


The Peril of Being Left Behind

by Lady_Sci_Fi



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 01:09:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3958771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Sci_Fi/pseuds/Lady_Sci_Fi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bofur doesn't make it to the boat leaving Laketown. He doesn't even make it to Fili, Kili, and Oin. Instead, he gets arrested and interrogated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For The Hobbit kinkmeme prompt: Bofur doesn't wake up in time to catch the boat out of Laketown, but he doesn't even get to Fili, Kili, and Oin. The Master has the guards capture Bofur before he can get out the door. The Master then interrogates him, demanding answers about Thorin, the Company, the Quest, Erebor, the treasure, everything he can think of.  
> During the interrogation, Bofur doesn't answer and tries to talk his way out of it. He gets beaten, whipped, and whatever other mild torture author wants to use.  
> Bonus: After Smaug destroys Laketown, Bard finds Bofur and helps him.  
> http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/14338.html?thread=25580546#t25580546

“By my beard, is that the time?” Bofur roused himself to quickly get up to his feet at the distant sound of the horns and drums. As he rushed around the table, he took a quick swig from a half-full glass. He shot from the dining room and through the corridors to the front door with no problem, but he had just grabbed the ring of the door to open it when several pairs of hands suddenly seized him from behind and yanked him backwards and to the ground.

“Hey! Let me go! I can’t miss the boat!” Bofur protested, kicking out.

“Master’s orders,” one of the guards replied.

“Rather fortunate for him, I’d say,” another commented.

Bofur managed to wrench one hand free from their grasps, but a punch to the face dazed him enough for it to be captured again. “No need for that. Look, lads, if this is about something I or another of our group did last night, I’m sure it’s already been smoothed over, so if you’ll just let me-“

“You will not be joining your little friends on that boat,” a guard reiterated with a kick to the dwarf’s knee to make him stop struggling so hard. “The Master has other plans for you.”

Once the group of guards had good holds on Bofur, they started half-dragging, half-carrying him. They went out a side door, but didn’t stay out in the chilly morning air too long before reaching a small building. Bofur struggled and shouted the entire way, but any Laketown citizens who saw or heard him, ignored him.

Bofur didn’t understand any of this, and the hangover he had wasn’t helping his mind in piecing it together. As far as he could remember, he hadn’t done anything to insult the Master. If this was an arrest of convenience because another dwarf had caused insult, Bofur couldn’t remember who had done so. Then there was the matter that the rest of the Company had left him behind. He supposed it was his own fault, since he had known they would have an early morning, and he had let himself drink too much anyway.

Bofur cried out as he was suddenly tossed down a set of stairs to a dark room. He rolled to a stop at the bottom. He quickly shot up to his feet, only to be knocked down by a fist smashing across the side of his head. He landed on his hands and knees, and blinked against the fogginess in his head.

Lamps were quickly lit, and Bofur saw that this was no place he wanted to be. In the center was a thick round post with manacles hanging down from the top, shelves displaying a variety of unpleasant tools adorned the opposite wall. He noticed the old brownish-red stains in the wood under his hands and flinched away, and he wrinkled his nose at the smell of old blood and sweat that lingered in the room.

The guards surrounded him in a circle, and Bofur stood and raised his hands to either side of his head. “Whatever this is about, I’m sure we can talk it over civilly.”

“Save it for the Master when he gets here,” a guard replied.

“Could you at least tell me what he wants?” At the lack of response, Bofur went on, “Right, then how about I go through a list of possibilities and you stop me when I’ve guessed it. I insulted him last night? I drank too much of his wine? He doesn’t like my hat? I-“ Bofur yelped at the blow to the back of his neck. He turned to the guard, who was holding the butt end of his spear out.

“You will be quiet until the Master arrives.”

Bofur rubbed the back of his neck. “I can see you lads aren’t up for conversation.” He clasped his hands together in front of him and closed his mouth. It wouldn’t help him any to annoy the guards.

They didn’t have to wait long, and the Master descended the stairs with his aid in tow. A shiver passed through Bofur, and he knew it wasn’t from cold. The aid, Alfrid, he recalled, sneered at him.

“Good, you managed to get him,” the Master praised his guards.

“He was some trouble, but nothing we couldn’t handle. Anyone who saw us didn’t interfere,” a guard reported.

“Good, very good.” The Master stepped into the circle of guards. “Do you know why you’re here, master dwarf?”

Bofur shook his head. “Not a clue.”

“If you’re expecting to be released to join your friends, their boat has left for the mountain. Which also means no help will be coming for you.”

Bofur swallowed. He couldn’t blame the Company for leaving him behind, not when there was the deadline of Durin’s Day.

“Now, imagine my delight when one of my men reported to me that one of you lot was still in my dining room, asleep under the table. I simply couldn’t pass up the opportunity.”

“Opportunity for what?”

“To have some questions answered.”

Bofur bit his lip. An interrogation? He glanced behind to the shelves of tools.

“That’s right,” the Master remarked. “You don’t answer, those will be used. I’ve cleared my schedule for today, so this can take as long as it needs.”

“There’s no need for any of this. We told you our purpose last night. We’re here to reclaim Erebor, and give you a share of the treasure for your help.”

“And that’s all very well and good, but I need more.”

Bofur could tell he wasn’t going to be able to appeal to the man’s reason, so he took another angle. “If you let me go, in addition to whatever Thorin will give you and your people as part of his deal, I will personally gift you with a portion of my share.”

“As tempting as that sounds, what I hope to achieve here will get me more than that.”

Bofur’s face fell. “I don’t know what I could tell you. Thorin was truthful in everything he said.”

“I’m certain he was. Now let’s get moving. Thirteen dwarves and one Halfling to confront a dragon, why? You couldn’t get more support from your people on such a noble quest?”

“I suppose not,” Bofur shrugged.

“What’s the plan, then? Surely you’ve come up with something clever, since you lack brute force.”

Bofur didn’t want to betray Thorin’s plan, and wanted to keep the knowledge of the arkenstone secret. “I’m sure Thorin has thought of something clever. Whatever it is, I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.”

“He doesn’t share everything with me. You could say that I’m outside of that particular inner circle.”

“Strip him,” the Master ordered.

Bofur held out his hands in front of him. “Hey, there’s no need to do that. You’ve got the wrong one of us to be asking this type of questions. Simple mistake that anyone could’ve made. I just happened to be there, so I can forgive you.” He flashed a smile. “So if you’ll let me be on my way-“

A guard grabbed the back of his borrowed jacket from behind and wrenched him backwards. The Master stepped back, and the rest of the guards descended upon the dwarf, roughly yanking at his clothes. The Master ordered them to stop when Bofur was down to his breeches, his hat, boots, and everything else carelessly tossed away towards a corner of the room. A shiver went through him, now brought on by the chill of the room.

“I will ask you again. What is the plan?”

“I told you, I don’t know. You’d have to ask Thorin.”

“Insolent dwarf,” Alfrid hissed.

“Come now, this is only my first question of many,” the Master encouraged.

Bofur shrugged. “I can’t answer it. I suppose I could make something up, but you wouldn’t appreciate that.”

Alfrid bared his teeth, stepping forward and backhanding Bofur across the face. A ring on his finger cut into Bofur’s cheek. “Disrespectful fool. You do not speak to him in that manner, and you answer him.”

With a nervous swallow, Bofur shook his head, knowing these men would do whatever they could to get him to answer, knowing that the next few hours wouldn’t be at all pleasant.

“Chain him up,” the Master commanded.

Bofur put up a fruitless struggle as the guards dragged him to the post and chained his hands above his head, his front facing out to the men. Alfrid pulled a chair up to the leader and stood to the Master’s side when he sat. The Master said, “Beat him with your spears.”

Bofur barely registered the wooden shaft being swung at him before it impacted across his bare abdomen. The butt end of another jabbed into his side at the same time as one cracked across his chest. He clenched his teeth to avoid crying out.

After a minute, the Master called for the guards to stop. “This will only get worse from here, master dwarf.”

Bofur glared into the man’s face, defiance now the only expression he gave. “I can’t tell you anything.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

Bofur didn’t respond.

The Master chuckled. “I’ve heard tales of the strength of dwarves. How fun that I may get to test that for myself.”

As much as Bofur hated the idea of this being for the man’s entertainment, he would not betray the Company.

The Master considered the dwarf for a moment, a small grin on his face. “Merrod is an experienced interrogator. He hasn’t practiced with dwarves before, but this could be a valuable learning experience for him.” One guard took off his uniform jacket, and the rest stepped back to behind their leader. “This is your last chance.”

“I’ve forgotten the question,” Bofur replied.

“We’ll break that spirit from you. Merrod, begin.”

Bofur clenched his teeth, though pained grunts escaped through them at every strike of the spear shaft across various parts of his body. He kept his head up, determined to show that his will would not be easily brought down.

Merrod stopped for a brief moment, then suddenly swept one of Bofur’s feet out from under him. Bofur cried out as his shoulders wrenched when he fell a few inches and the slack of the manacles chain was pulled taut. He scrambled back to his feet. Merrod went over and quietly spoke to two of the guards, who grabbed a large basin and took it upstairs.

“If you think Thorin will honour the agreement he made with you when he finds out about this-“

“He won’t find out.” An amused grin appeared on the Master’s face. “Though, what does it say about what he thinks of you, that he would either forget about you, or purposely leave you behind?”

Bofur glared, knowing that he couldn’t go down that line of thinking. It was his own fault that he hadn’t woken in time, not Thorin’s, or any of the other members of the Company. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t doubt them.

“Perhaps your leader realized how useless you are,” Alfrid added. “Or maybe he’s been looking for a chance to leave you behind all along.”

“They wouldn’t,” Bofur replied, his voice hard.

“You weren’t the only one,” the Master said, waving his hand flippantly.

“What?” Bofur was about to ask for details, but the two guards came back with the large basin, which now had water sloshing over the sides. They set it down a couple meters in front their captive. Two other guards unlocked the manacles from Bofur’s hands. He didn’t have a chance to rub at his sore wrists before they were seized and he was dragged forward and down to his knees in front of the basin.

“Let me try another question,” the Master considered. “Exactly how much gold is there in Erebor?”

Bofur paled. This was a question he could not answer. “I don’t know.” He had heard stories of the wealth of the mountain, like any dwarf had, but he doubted anyone knew an exact number.

“An estimate, then? Obviously enough to make it worthwhile to take on a dragon for it.”

“Enough, aye.” Enough to set fourteen people up for life.

“But how much?”

Bofur shook his head. “I can’t answer that.”

“What are Erebor’s defenses?”

“Defenses? Against what?”

“Anything, everything.”

“I don’t know, I’m being honest with you. I don’t-“ Bofur suddenly got a mouthful of freezing water as his head was shoved down into the basin. He struggled, doing whatever he could to get back up, but the three pairs of hands held his wrists and head down firmly. In the shock of the cold, he breathed in, only enhancing his panic as all he got was a lungful of water instead of air.

Black spots began to wriggle through his blurring vision. When he thought his lungs were going to burst, his head was yanked up by his hair. He gulped in air, water spitting and dripping from his mouth.

“He already looks a little cleaner from that brief bath,” Alfrid smirked.

“Erebor’s defenses,” the Master prompted.

“I don’t know,” Bofur gasped. His head was instantly shoved back down. Once again, he couldn’t stop himself from panicking and breathed in the icy water. The question was repeated when he was allowed to breathe air again. “I don’t know.”

This time Bofur was held down long enough for grey to start filling his vision. He managed to keep his mouth closed, but breathed in through his nose in desperation. His mouth opened as he choked, resulting in inhaling more water.

Bofur didn’t realize he’d been pulled out again until a large hand slapped his cheek a few times. “Wake, dwarf,” commanded Merrod. As soon as he came to his senses, he was forced back down again.

This time, Bofur felt himself fade into darkness. His hands stilled on the side rims of the basin, and his eyelids became heavy and closed. His face stung from the cold, his chest burned at the lack of air…

Bofur felt himself hit the wooden floor as he was yanked up and practically tossed backwards. It took a hard kick to the stomach for him to start hacking and retching up water. He snorted, drooled, and panted once everything he could get out was slipping into the wood grains beneath him.

His muscles suddenly tensed as the basin of icy water was dumped on him. He curled in on himself, shivering violently and breathing erratically. He was too occupied with coughing and breathing to put up any real fight as he was hauled back up to his feet and chained to the post. A backhand across the face cleared his vision of the grey haze. A hand grabbed his wet hair and pulled his head up to see the Master.

“Erebor’s defenses.”

“Don’t know…” Bofur once again had to scramble back to stable footing as his feet were swept out from under him. A knife slashed across the outside of his thigh, and he hissed through the pain. Then the knife filled his vision as it was held up in front of him, the flat part of the blade only an inch from his nose. Merrod stepped in close, and pinned Bofur against the post with a forearm pressing on his throat.

Bofur’s eyes followed as the knife went down until the cool steel touched the center of his chest. He stood still as it pressed into his skin, drawing out a bead of blood.

“Which among your group is the most dangerous?”

“What?”

“The strongest, the smartest, anything like that.”

Bofur shook his head, then squeezed his eyes shut as the knife slowly sliced a trail down his torso.

“Answer him,” Merrod prompted.

“Can’t.” Bofur tried to shrink back as the flat of the knife came up and rested over one eye.

“Now now, Merrod, we don’t want to permanently damage him yet,” the Master mock-chided.

The knife flicked over Bofur’s cheek, drops of blood trickling down from the cut. His body stayed tense when Merrod backed away and went behind him. Two of the guards pulled him around to the other side of the post and turned him around so that his front was to the post and his back to the open air.

“I’ve given you a variety of questions, dwarf. You may choose any one to start answering with,” the Master said.

Bofur shook his head. He barely held back the cry as a whip snapped against his back. “I don’t know,” he replied through clenched teeth.

“You don’t know who’s the strongest of your company? I find that rather difficult to believe.”

“Maybe I am as stupid as you might think I am,” Bofur shot back. The next strike of the whip drew a gasp from him.

“Merrod has a strong arm,” the Master said. “You’ll tire before he does.”

“You said he’s never practiced on a dwarf before,” Bofur couldn’t stop himself from pointing out.

The Master laughed, “I have faith in him.”

Bofur shook as five strikes came down on him in quick succession, not giving him any time to recover between them. The last one got a hissed sort of cry from him. He yelped as the next one cut across the back of his thighs, making his footing falter and arms wrench upwards.

Bofur barely regained his footing when another strike came down, this one wrapping around his side and biting across a rib. It didn’t take long for him to start screaming as the whip came down harder and faster, blood beginning to stream down his back from the open welts and cuts.

The torture finally stopped, leaving Bofur barely able to stand, only held up by the chains and his forward slumping against the post. His breaths came in staccatoed and went out heavily, little whines accompanying them.

“I’ve just realized, I haven’t even asked you your name,” the Master said.

“Bofur,” the dwarf answered in a growl of pain. He didn’t see a point in suffering for that question.

“Oh, you can answer questions? What’s Thorin’s plan?”

Bofur tried to straighten himself up by pulling at the chains, ignoring the metal rubbing his wrists raw. “Can’t…” he said.

“I’m getting rather annoyed at hearing that word. Tell me about Erebor’s defenses.”

Bofur closed his eyes and shook his head. He screamed as the next whip strike crossed over several open wounds. “Can’t!” he gasped. Merrod began laying into him again, and if his back felt torn before, the skin felt shredded now. He screamed himself hoarse at the merciless assault, crying out that he didn’t know and he couldn’t answer at every chance.

“I’ve never- never been there!”

Merrod stopped and stepped back.

“…never been to-to Erebor…” Bofur sobbed. “I-I’m not… not from there… family not… I’m from the Blue Mountains… my family has never been to Erebor…”

“Surely you still know something.”

Bofur wearily shook his head. His feet slipped and he rolled around the other side of the post. Merrod grabbed his hair and yanked him back into place. The hand left his hair, leaving him alone for a short moment.

Bofur eyes flew wide at the sudden unbearable heat against the flesh of his side. He tried to move away, but Merrod pinned him against the post with his body, pressing the fire poker harder against him. The smell of his own burning flesh overpowered the scent of blood that had been filling his nose.

His head lolled as the poker was removed, though the burning pain heavily lingered.

“Tell me about the members of your company,” the Master prompted.

Bofur’s silence instantly became a hoarse scream as the hot poker burned through the fabric of his breeches to burn his side of his leg.

Then Merrod stepped back, and Bofur had no idea how long he was left alone. He got into a rhythm of breathing, trying to send out the agony the whip and poker left with every breath.

A whip lashed across his slashed back, a different one, with three tails instead of only one. Every muscle stiffened, including those in his throat, stopping the scream from coming forth.

Merrod was again relentless, and didn’t stop until Bofur could no longer hold himself up at all, hanging by his wrists as his legs completely gave out.

Bofur didn’t have the strength to even try to flinch away as the Master’s hand grabbed his chin and tilted his head up, commanding him to open his eyes. Bofur got them half-open, though he could only make out the shape and colours of the figure in front of him through blurred vision and hazy mind.

“I suppose we can stop here for today. Though tomorrow… we may start causing permanent damage.”

Bofur’s eyes closed as he weakly shook his head.

“No? You don’t want that? Then tell me what I want to know.”

“… can’t…” Bofur managed to whisper though barely-parted lips.

“Tell me, Bofur. What do you do?”

Bofur’s brow slowly furrowed in confusion.

“What’s your profession?”

“…miner…”

“Is that so? Perhaps you’ll be more willing to answer me tomorrow, or you’ll have a hand smashed until it’s useless. Maybe even both of them.”

“…no, no, no…”

“You’ll have until tomorrow morning to think it over.” The Master let him go and said to the guards, “Take him to a cell. Dress him, too. We don’t want him freezing to death.”

Bofur heavily dropped to the floor as soon as both of his wrists were unchained. The guards roughly dressed him, then grabbed his limb and carried him up the stairs and outside. The last thing he was aware of was the grey sky above him.


	2. Chapter 2

Bain caught himself on a still-standing support beam as he tripped over some rubble. In the dim grey light of sunrise, he spotted a distinct and familiar-looking hat. Then he saw half of a body sticking out from under the pile of rubble that used to be part of the prison cells. Long and thick dark hair covered the person’s face. Bain crouched down to move it, revealing the bearded face.

“Da!” Bain called out. “It’s one of the dwarves!” He placed his fingers on the side of the dwarf’s neck, a sigh of relief going through him when he felt the weak pulse. “He’s alive.”

Bard hurried over and lifted the rubble off the dwarf. “At least he managed to stay mostly dry when the cells fell. He must be the one the other three were worried about.”

“Bif… no, Bofur, I think.” Bain gasped at the back of the dwarf’s shirt, which was covered in thick lines and spots of blood. He asked through his hand over his mouth, “What happened to him?”

“Interrogation,” Bard answered, disgust on his face. He recognized the criss-crossing pattern of blood on the shirt for what it was, and wondered what else had been done to Bofur in addition to being whipped. He knelt down next to the dwarf’s head and stroked his hair comfortingly for a few seconds, silently apologizing for what the Master had done. “Right,” he decided. “We’re taking him with us. Help me get him up.”

Together they wrapped the unconscious Bofur in the nearby guard uniform jacket and got him up over Bard’s shoulders. Bain made sure to grab the dwarf’s hat and place it in his inside coat pocket, then they continued on their way.

They reached a point where they could see the survivors of the dragon’s attack gathering on the opposite beach of the wrecked town. They hadn’t come across any other stragglers. They quickly found an intact boat. Bard gently set the dwarf down in it, and he picked up the steering pole and pushed off.

Bain sat close to Bofur, watching him for any signs of waking. He drew his coat and a blanket in the boat around himself tighter to ward off the chill of the early winter morning, and remembered the hat in his pocket. “Maybe this’ll help,” he muttered, pulling it out and fitting it over Bofur’s head. Bofur’s fingers seemed to twitch in response. Bain slightly smiled. “You’re welcome.”

The ride was uneventful, and Bofur showed no other sign of consciousness. When they neared the shore, Bard said, “Cover him. I doubt everyone will be friendly if they see him.”

“We’re going to leave him in here alone?”

“We need to find your sisters. I’d rather not be stopped by every person along the way asking about Bofur.”

Bain nodded and laid the blanket over Bofur, covering him completely. When they reached the shore and jumped out, Bain whispered, “We’ll be back for you.”

“Come on,” Bard urged his son, seeing a familiar and unwelcome man in black harassing a woman.

 

Hands seizing his arms and legs brought Bofur crashing from a world of dark peacefulness into one of blinding bright light and pain. He cried out, though his voice was too weak and mind too hazy to put up any meaningful protest. The same went with physically struggling as the guards dragged him further up onto the shore…

Why was he here, instead of in the cell where he was certain they had taken him… how long ago? Why had they taken him out of Laketown? What were they going to do to him out here?

“Please!” Bofur cried. “Please don’t-“

“Begging already?” one of the three guards goaded.

Bofur yelped as the guards practically tossed him. One held onto the jacket wrapped around his body as he fell, making it come off and leaving him shivering from the chilled air. He forced himself up into a sitting position, and scooted backwards from them, gritting his teeth through the pain it was causing him.

Out of nowhere, a boot kicked across Bofur’s face, sending him spinning to the ground, blood spurting from his mouth and into the dirt. His hat flew a few feet away.

“Think you’re just going to run away from us, dwarf?” a guard taunted.

“Not after what your friends brought down on us,” another added.

Bofur raised his head, one hand protectively clutching at his jaw. A guard kicked out the arm he was holding himself up with, then seized his hair and yanked him up to his knees.

“You will answer for what you’ve done,” the guard spat in his face.

A hoarse scream was torn from Bofur’s throat as a savage kick connected with his whip-shredded back. The grip on his hair let go, allowing him to keel over onto his side, his back arching with the agony. Unfortunately, that position left him open for another kick in the back, and he somehow managed to scream louder, his fingers splayed out, and his body let out a spasm. The scream trailed off into a long high-pitched whine as he tried to curl in on himself.

A kick to his shoulder quickly had Bofur flat on his back, and a heavy foot came down on his chest, pinning him down. His shirt stuck to his back pulled at his wounds, making him writhe as much as the guard would let him.

“Get away from him!” commanded a voice.

Bofur turned his head to the side to see that it was Bard, standing inside a circle made by a gathered crowd, which Bofur hadn’t been aware of forming.

“I said get away from him,” Bard demanded. At the lack of the movement from any of the guards punishing the dwarf, he shoved the one pinning Bofur down away.

“His people brought down the dragon on us!” one guard protested, stepping between Bard and Bofur.

“Perhaps they did, but he did not.” Bard pushed the guard aside and stood defensively in front of Bofur, who still couldn’t find the strength to move more than turning over onto his side.

Bofur flinched as someone rushed to him and knelt by him, laying a protective hand on his shoulder. He glanced up to see Bard’s son above him, staring down the guards.

“They’re not here, so he will answer for what they’ve done.”

“Enough!” Bard shouted.

Bofur clenched his hands into fists and bit his bottom lip to keep himself from maoning and crying from the residual pain.

“Look at him. Has he not suffered enough?” Bard asked. “Bain, get him out of here.”

Sigrid broke through the crowd to help her brother get Bofur to his feet. She took one arm while Bain took the other. Bofur’s steps were uneven and shaky. Tilda scooped up Bofur’s hat and jacket, and hurried after her siblings.

Bofur’s head spun as they hurried from the crowd. He was barely able to put one foot in front of the other. He did manage to take in his surroundings of temporary tents, baskets and small boxes of supplies, and everyone they passed had a miserable expression. He glanced across the lake and saw the smoking wreckage of Laketown.

“Dragon…” Bofur muttered to himself. Memory of the night before flashed in his mind. Lying on the prison cell cot, unable to be comfortable from his wounds, trying to think through a pain-fogged mind of how to escape or avoid what was to happen the next morning… then the ringing of the tower alarm bell, and roaring fire descending from the sky…

Bofur’s legs gave out, and he collapsed to the ground on his hands and knees. He let out a long hiss at the pain it caused.

“We can stop here,” Sigrid said. “We’re far enough away from the guards.”

“Da won’t let them near you again,” Bain added.

Bofur closed his eyes at the nausea rolling in his stomach. He forced himself to sit back on his heels, and let out a long breath. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards as his hat was placed on his head. “Thank you,” he said.

Satisfied that he had gotten the pain under enough control to function, he opened his eyes. The three children were standing around him, protecting him, he realized, in case anyone else wanted to have a go at him.

“We should get your wounds cleaned,” Sigrid said after a moment.

Bofur shook his head. “You shouldn’t see.”

“The longer we leave it, the worse it’ll get,” the older girl replied. She touched his back, making him flinch. “Your shirt’s stuck to them. We need to get it off and clean them.”

Bofur turned too quickly at the sound of hurried footsteps, and hissed at the way the movement pulled at his back.

“Are you alright?” Bard inquired.

“Better than I would’ve been if you hadn’t stepped in.” Bofur looked up at the man. “Thank you.”

“Sigrid’s right, we need to take care of your wounds now. We’ll be on the move in a couple hours.” Bard crouched down behind Bofur to get a better look. “Bain, see if you can find the boat we used. The blanket in it is thin enough to use as bandages.”

“I’d rather not take your supplies,” Bofur opposed.

“There’re things both of us would rather not do right now,” Bard replied softly. “Go on, Bain, and dip it in the water and wring it out until it’s damp.”

Bofur grunted and grasped at the grass as Bard lightly pulled at the back of his shirt. With a long breath, he unbuttoned the front and gingerly drew his arms from the sleeves. He noticed Sigrid’s and Tilda’s downcast expressions as the bruising on his front and the patch of burned flesh on his side were revealed. “Looks worse than it feels,” he tried to say lightly.

“Look away, Sigrid and Tilda,” Bard told his daughters. He asked the dwarf, “Do you want me to do this quickly or slowly?”

“Quick-“ Bofur broke off into a cry as the shirt was yanked from his back in one strong motion, and he clamped his mouth shut before it got too loud. Sigrid rushed forward and dropped to her knees, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding him close to comfort him as he started shaking.

“Sorry,” Bard apologized. “I didn’t want you to tense too much before I did it.”

“No, it’s… it’s fine,” Bofur said into Sigrid’s shoulder, wincing as blood began lightly flowing down his back from the reopened wounds.

Bard cut off the sleeves of the shirt and dampened them in the water. He hurried back and started cleaning the dwarf’s wounds. Bain returned soon after, and Bard handed him his knife, instructing him to cut the damp blanket into strips.

Bofur hissed the first few times the cloth touched his raw back, but was able to get a handle on that. Sigrid holding him helped, though his body was still shivering from the pain and the chill of the air.

“The other three will be happy to know you’re alive,” Tilda said.

“Other three?” Bofur asked, remembering the Master had mentioned that he hadn’t been the only one of the Company left behind. “Who else? Where are they?”

“They left a little while ago. Took a boat and headed for the mountain,” Bain answered.

“I can’t remember their names, but one had a wounded leg, one was blonde, and was much older and some kind of healer,” Tilda replied.

“Kili, Fili, and Oin,” Bofur said, his hand clenching at the back of Sigrid’s coat when Bard reached a particularly deep gash. “They’re alright?”

“Last we saw them,” Sigrid answered.

“Tell me what happened with them?” Bofur requested. In addition to needing to know about his friends, he wanted something to distract him from his torn back. It turned out to be quite a tale, with orcs, elves, and then Smaug. When it was finished, he nodded and said, “They made it, you made it… not all is bad.”

Bard was halfway through with bandaging him up when Bofur quietly asked, “Why are you helping me?”

“Because you need it,” Bard answered simply.

“We weren’t just going to leave you lying in rubble to freeze to death,” Bain added.

“Do you… you think I and my friends are to blame for this?”

“If I do, it doesn’t matter now. We’re in this together, all of us, including you.”

Bofur nodded and closed his eyes. He kept them closed until Bard finished tying off the last bandage. Then he slowly put on the guard jacket. “Thank you. You’re a good man.”

Bard slightly smiled. “Take the opportunity to rest. Won’t be long until we’ll be on the move.”

 

A couple hours later, the sun had begun to provide some warmth as the men of Laketown began their trek to Dale. Bard took protecting Bofur seriously, having him walk with his family at the front. Bofur was sure he was slowing them down, but none of them complained. In fact, the three children filled the time by talking with him.

Bofur knew he wouldn’t have to worry about being taken advantage of by Bard as he had by the Master. Bard was good and honest, and if there was anything Bofur could do in repayment for the man, especially in the coming days of hardship, he would.


End file.
